Oh Well.

I’ve got a big heart. It hurts on a regular basis. I wear it on my sleeve. People can beat the shit out of it as much as they choose. My heart is the source of all of my problems. It’s big enough that it gets in the way of rational thought processes. I’d give someone the shirt right off of my back if they needed it. Plus, with my shirt off, it gives people a better target on my back, so when they stab it, they know they’ve hit the right spot. Not a big deal, really. I usually deserve it when that happens.

There are various activities that I’ve been known to partake in whenever my heart hurts. Sitting here now, I can re-live moments that people have literally hurt my heart so bad that I thought I was going to ache myself to death. Once again, I probably deserve it. I know I’ve done many, many good things for many people that didn’t deserve it. I’ve shined. Surprisingly enough, those moments aren’t the ones I remember the most, or influence me the most. The shitty things I’ve done over the years are the ones that I remember the most. I’m sure the people that I’ve done a million decent and good things for only remember the bad things I’ve done to them as well. It is funny how that works.

I am the walking definition of existential. I’m full of guilt, shame, and anxiety. I’ve always been a nervous wreck. I’ve never understood why people that I’ve been good to rub my nose in shit. I guess it comes down to me letting them do it. I’d love to hear their reasons of justification.

My heart hurts on a regular basis due to me guilting and shaming myself to death. I beat my own heart up over and over again over the things that I’ve done to people that didn’t deserve it. I can sit and babble to myself and to others about the things I’ve done. I can sit and make up a thousand excuses that sound great, justifying my actions. I can come up with so many reasons that justify and excuse why I did that or this to him or her whenever I did it. The sad truth of it is simple. Those excuses and justifications are hollow. They are simply reasons that I can come up with to make myself feel better about the things I’ve done. I can’t think of an excuse for any of the bad things I’ve done to people. Not one solid excuse. I don’t know what to make of that. I truly don’t.  I wonder if the people that have done me dirty ever feel guilty. I wonder if they worry like I do. I wonder if they realize that the cruel and disloyal things that they did to me have affected me in ways that make me expect the worse from everyone, or that it took away my self-worth, my dignity, my self-esteem, and has skewed the way that I look at the world and the people that are sharing it with me. I doubt it. They probably don’t think of me at all. It’s better for them that way. Unfortunately, every person from any walk of life that I’ve done wrong, I beat myself up over all of the time. I wish I could just not care. I wish my heart was smaller.

I’ve done some pretty amazing things for people. I’ve done random acts of kindness for friends, lovers, and strangers without ever expecting or getting anything in return. I’ve fed people that probably didn’t deserve it. I’ve opened doors for people that more than likely would rather spit on me than smile at me. I’ve done things that if they had been done for me, I would have never been able to show how grateful I was. The sad part is, those things are never remembered. The only things that are remembered are the bad things that I’ve done. I never get any slack, but I guess I don’t deserve it. I tell myself that I need to toughen up, forget the past, and move forward. It’s easier said than done. I tell myself to look out for only me, but that’s easier said than done as well. I’m just going to keep being me. I guess I’ll just try to help people more. Someday I’ll get recognized, or probably not. Either way, I’m tired of feeling like shit all of the time over things I’ve tried to apologize for. If I can forgive, why can’t others? Oh well I guess. As long as I can smile or laugh at least once a day, I’ll be just fine.

Appreciation #2

1. I am grateful for black coffee.

2. I am grateful for the smells of spring.

3. I am grateful for beautiful sunsets.

4. I am grateful for the smell of memories.

5. I am grateful for forgiveness.

Appreciation

Sometimes I fall victim to getting down, feeling hopeless, and giving the impression that I’m not a happy guy. I am a happy guy. I have a lot to be happy for. So, I’m going to post 5 things that I’m grateful for everyday. Some of them will be mundane, but all of them will be heartfelt and true. The bad should never outweigh the good. I need to remind myself of that more often.

Anyways, here are my 5 things for the day.

1. I’m grateful for the people who love me. Without them, all would be lost.

2. I’m grateful for having a roof over my head and food to eat.

3. I’m grateful for the music that God has blessed me with.

4. I’m grateful for my education.

5. I’m grateful for all of the parts of the world that I’ve had the opportunity to see.

Sit back and think of all that you have, and quit worrying about the things that you don’t have. Stay thirsty, my friends.

 

Music On My Mind

Time is the true tester of garbage music. All of those great songs over the decades that people still truly enjoy and are still being played on the radio/movies/commercials have withstood the test of what is good and what is not. If it isn’t a very good song, it will be played as a joke. I love rock music from every decade since its inception. The 50’s, the 60’s, the 70’s, the 80’s (not much there), and the 90’s. Notice that I stopped with the 90’s. The reason for that is that there were very, very few songs that came out during the first ten years of the 21st century that were worth the time that it took to record them (in my humble opinion). This new decade is even worse. I listen to the same stuff that I’ve always listened to. I’ve tried to branch out, I really have. There just isn’t any grit to it. No meaning other than bullshit. In my opinion, the only music that has come out in the last 12 years has been produced by the bands that were formed in other decades. Everything else doesn’t stand the test of time. Case and point. Back in my high school days, Korn first hit the scene. Other bands of that genre followed. They were red-hot. The things about those bands that prove my point are that they aren’t anywhere now. Sure, they still make CD’s, they still tour, but they aren’t significant unless you are the 30 something still buying their stuff, and still going to their shows. You aren’t going to hear the latest Korn song on America’s Top 40. You won’t even see a video aired. Does that mean that they aren’t good musicians? No. I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that they couldn’t withstand the test of time.

Whatever happened to the Steely Dan’s? The Jimi Hendrix’s? People that actually molded entire generations of musical minds? Where are the new innovators? The musicians that take their influences seriously and put their blood, sweat, and tears on the recording? I’ll tell you where they are. The bank. They’ve all cashed in. The really amazing musicians of today that have the potential to mold tomorrows music is out there, but instead of going against the grain and making their music, they’ve sold out. Granted, they usually also sell out every venue that they book, and their music is gobbled up, but they aren’t doing it for the music any more. They aren’t doing it for their souls any more. They are doing it for their bank accounts. Do I blame them? Yes and no. Whatever happened to musicians you could listen to, and you know exactly who they are just by the first three bars of the song? Are there any of these people left? No. If there are, they are hiding.

I take music very seriously. You’d think that I would be making my living by writing it, that’s how serious I take it. If you have a question as to whether a new guitarist, drummer, or bassist is worth their weight in gold, ask me. I’ll happily tell you whether they are good, or just filling a spot. Vocalist’s, too. I tried to branch out into rap, but I’ve always had a problem with people paying other people for samples, running them through a machine, and calling it music just because they can rhyme, make every girl into a stripper, calling it their own, and then telling me about how much money they’ve made. It’s just not my style. There is some old school rap that I can dig, just because they were the creators of their genre. Other than that, I’ve got absolutely no use for it. Play me an instrument. Make me watch and listen to your hands. Give me goose bumps when you belt out a melody with all of the veins popping out on your head. Inspire me. Make me eat my opinionated words as to how dismal the music scene is. After all, I’m no expert. It should give someone great pleasure to prove me wrong.

I love to play music. I love it. I love to write songs just as much. How many people get to hear me do that? Not many. I’ve been in a couple of bands, one that I am proud of being in, the other, not so much. Regardless of that, we had a good time. I sweated my ass off. My fingers hurt when I was finished. The crowd always responded as if we were kings. The bars that we played in smelled terribly at the end of the night. It was great. Making money is always nice. Making money doing what you love is probably amazing, but you have to stay true. You need to be honest with yourself. Would you buy what you are playing and writing, or is it just something you do to make some money, get laid, and go home? If no one else likes what you are writing, or playing, you have to like it. Do it for you first. Never sell out and play something that you wouldn’t even listen to if the shoes were on the other feet. If you are honest, talented, and true to yourself, people will like the music. People will be inspired. People will have a good time with it.

On A Lighter Note

I’ve been taking life way too seriously, so I’ve decided to post something that gave me a genuine laugh. It may give you one as well. I wonder what the King of Pop would think to see himself enshrined in hub caps. Enjoy.

No More Doubt

I’ll never have to worry about someone loving me, needing me, wanting me in their life ever again.

I’ll never have to worry about dying alone.

I’ll never have to wonder if someone has secret motives.

No more doubt. I will have made my own love, and my own best friend.

The Sad Truth of It

Those that say they do, don’t.

Those that could, won’t.

Those that would, can’t.

Where you end up is lonely.

Neediness No More

I’ve been in a rather great state of mind for the past two weeks (give or take a couple of days) and to be quite honest, I don’t understand how. I’ve been feeling under the weather for the last week or so (stomach issues, headaches, etc.) , and I’ve not taken my psychiatric medications for almost a month. My moods have been good. My mind has felt good. The couple of times that I’ve felt moody, I’ve simply told people who I’m tired, grumpy, or off in my head somewhere (not that anyone has cared enough to see what is really wrong, or what I’m thinking). Usually, I can do something to occupy my mind (play guitar, zone-out, look at old pictures, take a drive, etc.) to make me forget the worries and emotions. This process guarantees little to no conversation being needed with anyone about the things that weigh upon my mind. With little to no conversation necessary, I don’t nearly complain as much about anything significant. Nothing gets solved, but nothing gets worse.I realized a while back that I worry about the same things over and over again, usually with something new being added to the ordinary list, and most times that I talked about the things that worry or bother me, things got worse and remained unresolved. That in itself  would make me worry more. So, I just quit talking about the things that bother me to anyone , (for the most part) if I’m asked what’s wrong, I give a general answer (grumpy, tired, not feeling well), and I don’t have to talk about anything if I don’t want to. Nothing gets fixed, but talking about it never fixed anything in the first place. At least nothing gets any worse and I don’t seem like a whiner. Honestly, no one really asks me what’s wrong in the first place. I deal with it on my own. I don’t recommend this strategy to anyone, but it has worked for me.

Health issues are where I need to shut up the most. I’m pretty certain that I have a bleeding ulcer, a sinus infection, and that my bum knee is going to blow out any day now. Not to mention a couple ingrown hairs that make me feel absolutely disgusting. These are the things that I have complained about, and I feel like an idiot for doing so. No one gives me advice, takes notice, or really cares about my ailment complaints. Why would they? No one that I complain about these things to are Doctors. No one that I complain about these things to are health care professionals. From now on, no more complaints about my health unless it’s to ask someone for a ride to the hospital. Hell, I’d feel like a burden asking for that. I’ll be fine, and I’ll deal with it on my own without troubling anyone, unless it’s a Medical Doctor.

One thing that has taken me a long time to quit complaining about is loneliness. I feel lonely all of the time (I know, this is a mind complaint, and I apologize to anyone that has had to hear me whine about it). I text people just to not feel lonely (the same four people, over and over again), and yet, I still feel lonely. 96% of the time, no one will text me back. 2% of the time, I’ll get a genuine, cordial conversation. Sometimes I’ll luck out and those 2% will actually joke and act silly with me, and I’ll get a laugh out of it. The other 2%, people will text me because they need something. When it comes to people texting me without me initiating the conversation, 90% of the time it’s a complaint, need, or favor being asked. The other 10%, it’s people that really love me enough to see how my day has been, my week, my month, etc. If something is wrong or weighing heavy on my heart, I’ll lie and say that everything is great. Then I’ll turn it around and ask them the same question. I really luck out when my cousins and fellow musicians text about music related issues. Or if friends text to talk about books, classes, sports, etc., I feel like it’s Christmas. That about covers the extent of my texting life. Phone calls rarely ever happen. It gets to where the loneliness can plant evil scenario’s in my mind, then there is worry on top of the loneliness. Other than this blog, I haven’t complained about being lonely to anyone in a while. So, I’m getting better. I’ve got a good solution to the loneliness worries. I’m going to get a landline at my house, no more texts. I’m going to deal with being lonely like everyone else does. Sit there and take it. Maybe do something productive.

The point of this entire blog entry is simple. Don’t be needy. Don’t complain. Chances are, if you are needy and whiney, you are either going to add more problems or just alienate and piss people off. Then you are really screwed. I’ve been in a great mood for the most part for quite some time. The longest stretch that I’ve seen in a while. I’m going to fix my burdening ways, and become more independent. I’ve said it before but I’ve never followed it. Never need anyone more than they need you, and don’t take it personally if they don’t really need you all that much. Stay thirsty my friends.

 

Life Babble

I don’t think any child has aspirations to be average. “Hi, I’m so, and, so; I want to grow up to be an average schmo.” That isn’t something you hear in elementary school classrooms. Everyone wants to be special. To be motivating, to be daunting, to matter. I can remember at one time, I wanted to be an archeologist (thank you Indiana Jones). Unfortunately, the older I got, I realized that saving the day and delivering treasure from the bad guys to the good guys wasn’t exactly how being an archeologist panned out. I began to look into it, and found that if you actually finish school to become an archeologist, most of your time is spent using tooth brushes and dental picks to sort through dead people’s trash piles and shit heaps in some God forsaken country where more than likely you are pooping outside and beating your clothes on a rock in a river to get them clean. That was the reality of it. That was the luster. So I scratched that off of my list. What was left? To be a factory worker like my father? There is nothing wrong with that, and I have the utmost respect, pride, and love for my father. However, I highly doubt that he grew up wishing to be a paper factory worker, spending the best years of his life being worked to death. I know he could have done anything he wanted under different circumstances. He is one of the hardest working and smartest men I’ve ever met.

Nowadays, teachers fill young minds with inspiration. They tell children that they can grow up to be anything they want. The feeling of confidence is instilled in kids at a young age to mold their plastic minds into ones that feel that anything is achievable. Do not discourage the young. Even at great odds, educators attempt to ensure the youth that they can do better, that they should never give up, that there is a chance for the good life if one just sticks to their goals. This wasn’t always so. My father’s generation had educators that were supposed to sort out the smart from the laborers. To sort out the management and the workers. Salary and hourly. College preparation courses were pushed on those that were believed to have potential. Vocational and trade skills were put on those that were believed to be mechanically or technically efficient, and all others, well, there was the military. My generation wasn’t dealt a much better option. Costs of education were going up, the economy was booming, so our piece of the American dream was still believed to be attainable. However, the options for my education were almost as bleak as my father’s. There was college preparatory (I wasn’t involved in those classes), there was vocational and trade school, there was ROTC, and there was me. I took normal courses and received a normal diploma. Just an average schmo. There were a lot of us. Guidance counselors told people like me what I needed to do to graduate high school. No more, no less. No mention of ACT exams, no mention of college preparatory courses, just guidelines to graduate. After that, good luck. Granted, at the time it was believed that you could still get a factory job, or become some type of schmo that made an average living, but as I said. Who dreams to do that? I wanted to see the world. I wanted to do something, anything. I knew there was a lot more to me and this planet than the factory setting of Southern Ohio. So, I joined the Air Force. Not exactly what I wanted, but it wasn’t half bad, either. I went places, seen things, and raised hell in so many places, that it still surprises me. I earned two Associate’s degrees while in the Air Force, both not worth the paper they are printed on. I got out, came home, got depressed, played some music, partied, and then decided to go back to school. Four years later, I have two Bachelor’s degrees and I’m in the process of getting a third. All three won’t be worth the paper they are printed on, or the money that has been spent to get them. Such is life. There is no money out there nowadays for people who like to think. People who ponder life don’t make a living at it. People who search for the true meaning of life and utilize education to help them become better thinkers on the matter usually die as average schmo’s. That is my fate. The oddest part is that I’m not salty about it. In professional sports the saying goes “it is what it is”.

So now what? I still dream. I still love to think. I still love to learn. I have no intention of becoming rich (although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it), and I don’t plan on changing the world. I’ve met so many people, and loved most of them. I’ve been to so many places and seen so many things, and the memories make me smile every single night. I have no plans of giving up on anything that I’ve ever wanted, and I have no plans of going anywhere, anytime soon. I have my memories. My goals have changed, but my dreams are still there. There are hiccups in average schmo’s lives, and sometimes things don’t go as planned, but that’s life. Instead of changing the world, I want to be a better person. I want to be a better friend. I want to be a better lover. I want to be a better companion. I want to be a better thinker. These are things I can do. I’ve failed at too many things to plan too big, too fast. I’ve achieved too much to give up. The only regrets I have are the times I’ve hurt people’s feelings. The times I’ve taken people for granted. The times I’ve been selfish. I’m human. I make mistakes. I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I can’t do much else about those regrets other than learn from them. I’m working on it. I can’t beat myself up any longer over life. I need to live it. So, here I go.

Waiting, Worrying, Breathing.

People always want what you have. All I do is wait to see who is going to take it away. Always waiting. I’ve never been very good at anything, and perhaps that is why I’ve always lost the things I love. Always waiting for whatever fuckery may lie behind the next door, or could be hiding in the next shadow. Always waiting.  Pessimism is a cancer of the mind. So is hope. Always waiting. Always worrying. Expecting to have what I have until the next best thing comes along because I’m not the best. I’m not the best at anything. Working on working  to work on something great that will probably never happen. Worrying. Always looking over my shoulder, always waiting for the next tragedy. Always waiting. So many things in life that would’ve gone differently if only I had tried a little harder, if only I had been a little quicker, if only the timing had been better and the words would have been there at my disposal. If only I had worked a little harder. Pondering the reality that if I had focussed on the right things instead of worrying about the wrong ones, things could have been different. Instead of waiting on the bad to happen, maybe I would’ve lived in the now and rolled with what was in front of me. My God, I’ve waited my whole life and I’ve accomplished nothing other than burning some bridges, hurting some people’s feelings, and being selfish. What do I have to show for it? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Ever since I was 8 years old, I’ve felt like all people do is take what you have, and what you aren’t usually willing to give. Do people really love you, or do they say they love you to benefit their own agenda? They’ll all hurt you. All of them. Nothing is ever good enough. They’ll always want more. Their love will be based on if you can give. If you can’t give more, they’ll find someone who can. Sometimes your best isn’t good enough, and my best isn’t that great anyway. Waiting, worrying, breathing. That is the extent of it. Sometimes a feeling overwhelms me when I’m dealing with the people I care about the most. I worry that I can’t show it properly, and that I’ll lose them because of it. Because of the inability to show how I feel. I try to put it in words, I sound like an idiot. I try to show it in gifts, and worry that the gifts aren’t good enough. I’d sell my soul for the chance to show them exactly how I feel. I’d sell my soul to show that I’ve never meant harm, and when I have, I wasn’t thinking. I’d sell my soul for a chance for them to step into my mind, my heart, body, and soul so they could truly see how much I care. How much I love. How amazing and overwhelming it can be, but impossible to express. Waiting, worrying, breathing. That is what it all comes down to, I guess. It makes me very sad to think that I’ve hurt people. It makes me sad that there are people out there that will never know how much they mean or meant to me. It makes me worry. It makes me wait to see what may be coming my way next. It makes me sad that those that mean the most to me don’t understand how much love I have for them. It makes me worry.